Falling in Order to Rise
by LadyPorpoise
Summary: Erestor asks Glorfindel a question one night: What if you had not died? Glorfindel says he would have wished to die, remembering the pain he suffered when he fought the balrog. Erestor imagines the alternate outcome, and later Glorfindel thinks about his experience of dying and waking up again in Mandos. T for wound descriptions.
1. What if

_A/N So I asked LadyLindariel out of a list of oneshots she would prefer over the other: she picked the ones that these two chapters are based from. Good thing they're Glorfindel based so I could post them in this section. And since there's actually people here that might read it in comparison to the Silmarillion section. :l Or I'll switch it to the Silmarillion if people are bothered by it._

 _Some bits of Silmarillion knowledge:_

 _Nirnaeth Arnodiad was the fourth battle in Beleriand._

 _Fingon was an elf king._

 _Mandos/Namo is dead stuff._

 _Laiquendi are wanderer elves in my brain. (Erestor's lore is my sister's creation...)_

 _I still don't own anything._

 _I hope you enjoy._

* * *

Crickets chirped their monotonous sounds in the twilight. One by one the lamps in the buildings were doused as the residents of Imladris turned in for the night. Only two remained awake so late in the night on one of the open terraces.

Erestor and Glorfindel simply existed, and every once in a while one of them would say something that sparked conversation. It mostly led up to them reflecting about old times in the Second Age, and if they were lucky: the First Age. One event that came to surface from their reminiscing was when Erestor, still considered an elfling at the time, beat the Valinorean elf in combat quite frequently. Glorfindel stared at the green-elf, his face twitching slightly while Erestor grinned in his simple amusements, and the silence came back full force soon after.

With the silence, Erestor started to think more about the First Age, sobering immediately and with sad pensiveness. So much had happened over the course of the years and ages, it both surprised and exhausted Erestor. He was not Glorfindel where he got a youth-boost by dying and being sent back, and after so much time: it can weigh one down. Elrond sometimes shared the burden of the years every now and then.

Glorfindel caught the change of expression and knew where the laiquendë's thoughts were going. "If we planned it better I would think Beleriand would still be standing…and a lot of other things aside," he mused softly.

"A lot of things would be different." Erestor's brows furrowed. "It is hard to grasp that it has been nearly six thousand years since then. And yet it feels so recent."

Glorfindel hummed. "I would say it has been a million years if you had not given me a recap of what the date was when I was dropped back on this side of the sea."

"What if you had not died?" Erestor asked abruptly.

The Vanya blinked at the question, caught off guard by it, "Pardon?"

"What if you had not fallen with the balrog?" Erestor repeated.

Glorfindel's expression became flat and distant as he stared at nothing. His gaze eventually dropped down to the cobblestone floor. "I would have wished I were dead."

Erestor watched his friend silently, his gaze asking his questions for him.

Glorfindel exhaled. "After seeing Fingon as mangled as he was after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad: armor melted, hair singed, limbs nearly burned off, seeing my own foe on the cliff made me panic at the thought of what I would escape with if I survived. Not that that would have stopped me." The Vanya's breath shuddered for a moment. "The survival of my people, especially Idril, Tuor, and their son, was far more important than my life. My grief and rage at the sudden destruction of Gondolin, the death of my king and friends, fueled the ardor of my spirit for revenge."

Erestor still remained silent.

"I was numb to the pain…I think I pulled off the incredible feat of letting your soul shine through to survive as long as I did."

Erestor started to think about the songs and tales that are sung about the fight. He looked mildly confused.

Glorfindel caught on again and frowned slightly. "It hurt, Erestor, when that beast grabbed me. The hot metal against my skin started to singe off the fabric, blisters, burns…" Glorfindel shook his head and stood up, finding it hard to continue. "I am sorry, but I must retire for the night."

The green-elf nodded. "I will be here for a while longer if you find you cannot sleep."

Glorfindel pressed his lips into a thin line. "You did bring up an interesting point though…but the answer is the same: I would have wished I died."

Erestor watched the trees while Glorfindel walked away. The laiquendë kept thinking about it. He had been there along with his kin to receive Gondolin's refugees, and hearing of Glorfindel's death caused him immense pain.

But what if that did not happen? What if Glorfindel had gotten out alive?

* * *

 _What if…_

The procession all but collapsed in weariness and their wailing intensified: from sorrow and the wounds they garnered from their escape through the pass. The nomadic elves tried to make sense of the chaos while the Gondolindrim had a brief time to regain their bearings before they needed to move on. They were not out of danger yet.

Erestor stood aside as he watched the last surviving members of the king's house converse with a couple of chieftains of his people to figure out what they were to do next. Nan-Tathren was mentioned: the fair Land of Willows to the far south.

A different sound reached his ears and Erestor turned his head towards it, and his face instantly fell at the sight and his feet possessed minds of their own at that moment.

Two elves helped a stumbling Glorfindel forward as the lord of the golden-flower raved in Quenya: sorrow, anger, and anguish embedded in his voice. Erestor had to prevent himself from gasping as he beheld the mess that was his old friend.

The ends of Glorfindel's hair was burnt off and some parts of his scalp were seared clean of hair altogether. His breastplate looked partially melted before it had hardened again into this new shape, and the elf seemed to have a hard time breathing. What would have been trousers and tunics, the fabric hung pathetically in burnt shreds. The green-elf saw the red, raw, and sometimes black burns that dotted across his skin.

"We made it out, my lord," one of the soldiers panted tiredly in vain reassurance.

"What kind of victory is this!?" Glorfindel rasped in a scratchy voice before he broke out in a coughing fit. His legs gave way and his attendees could do nothing but let him drop to the ground. The once golden-haired elf coughed up blood.

More gathered around but Erestor got there first, "You oaf! What in the lowest caverns did you do?!" He questioned harshly, unsure and too scared to make the connection yet.

Glorfindel wheezed and about fell over onto his side. "Get it off….!" He begged in a sob. "Get this bloody thing off!"

Erestor felt his own panic grow as he was unsure of what to do other than grasp the elf's forearms as Glorfindel started to claw at everything that hurt.

"We do not have the necessary things to remove the armor." A former healer despaired.

"Who cares if we have the equipment!" a new voice shouted. "Help him!"

Erestor resolved himself and shifted his stance to a crouch. The cadets were trying to keep Glorfindel from face-planting to the ground. The younger elf grabbed him under the shoulders to get the Vanya to stand again. "Come on; just walk a little bit more and you can have your rest." He said grimly.

* * *

"He inhaled a lot of smoke and must have gotten a few embers in there too, that is why he coughs up blood. The lacerations and burns make him prone to infection, and we have nothing to help with that. It would not surprise me if he dies from his lungs filling up with fluid."

Erestor half listened to the list of complications from the healer as he stared at Glorfindel; the Vanya only half conscious of what was going. The painful process of removing his armor without the right tools was finally over and they waited for someone to find any spare clothes he could use. Glorfindel was only covered by a blanket.

The healer left the rock they placed Glorfindel against. A couple of other green-elves lingered nearby while Erestor remained close to keep the balrog-slayer company. Most of the wailing from the main host had died down, and it would not be long before they had to be travelling again.

Erestor uncorked a skin of water and held it to Glorfindel's lips. The elf did not respond and continued to stare vacantly into space.

"Come on, Glorfindel, you will only get a short reprieve before we have to go south." Erestor pleaded sadly: mourning the destruction of a fair place and the numerous deaths the Gondolin elves suffered. His heart went out for these Noldor, even if he was still wary of them.

"What victory is this?" Glorfindel rasped finally, still not taking the water. "T-they're a-all d-dead… _dead_."

"But you saved many lives aside," Erestor tried, not sure of how to comfort someone who had been stricken with so much pain in such a short amount of time.

Glorfindel shook his head again and gave a harsh cough; redness trailing down his mouth afterward. "W-we've f-failed…W-we're d-done for."

Erestor could do nothing but watch as Glorfindel completely lost all of his wit.

* * *

 _In reality…_

Erestor shuddered as he broke away from the vivid imagining he let himself fall into. He did not fully break away though, continuing to dwell further on the what if. Glorfindel would have died from either heartbreak, drowned in his own blood, or succumbed to infection had he escaped the balrog. The elf lost too many loved ones to handle it all in one sitting. And the imagery, Erestor never wanted to see Glorfindel in such a state.

It would be cruel to the person to let them live like that, especially if the scars were permanent, and many things aside.

There were not many good outcomes either, if they existed, had Glorfindel survived the pain and heartache. He would have sailed to Valinor the first chance he got, and they would not be where they were at in this present age.

Erestor smirked grimly. In dim, morbid light of the idea, it was good then that Glorfindel died. He did not suffer needlessly, and he got a second chance at life, and as far as Erestor was concerned, that was a good enough outcome. The laiquendë got out of his seat and headed inside.

It was two in the morning.


	2. Mandos

Glorfindel could not sleep, but neither did he seek out Erestor like the old advisor offered.

The Vanya did not get out of his clothes; instead, he flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling for a long while. Erestor's question and his own explanation left him thinking about the nightmarish experience and the moments before he died.

The memory of heat from the lash and the balrog's hand made his chest and back feel abnormally warm, and he shifted to try and ease the discomfort. Glorfindel could truthfully say he was not sure how he managed to slay the thing. Aid from on high was the best answer he could provide, and he was the instrument used to achieve Eru's will.

As for death itself…

The last clear memory of his first life was falling down a cliff, and the next thing he knew was being alive again in Mandos. It was if only a second had passed: waking from a bad dream that felt all too real.

And it was real.

Glorfindel closed his eyes. He knew he had been alive long before he had true clarity of anything happening in Mandos. Elves were not meant to die, and so waking up from such a sleep deeper than any other slumber proved to be a little difficult. He would wager men could just snap back into wakefulness if they had the same privilege.

And that was all death was: nothingness. No knowledge of self or anything.

Absolutely nothing.

Nothing but eternal darkness.

* * *

 _Many ages ago…_

Glorfindel panted as he blindly sought out his dirk to finally end this demon. The balrog stared in terror as it wavered; the wounds the mighty elf inflicted taking its wages on the beast. Glorfindel _hurt_ , but he could not stop now, not while he was so close to victory. His hatred towards Morgoth and his servants for destroying Gondolin burned brightly: driving him onward. Finally grabbing the weapon, he let out a rage-filled shout and thrusted the weapon into the balrog's gut. It screamed, and it sent shudders into all who heard it.

Glorfindel stepped back, knowing he had finished it. He did not expect the beast to grab the ends of his singed hair, yanking him towards the cliff and with such force, Glorfindel briefly wondered why his neck did not snap.

And then he was falling, and all the terror he did not feel when fighting the balrog came flooding into his mind and heart as the inevitable death that such a fall would bring rushed up to meet him.

Primal instinct took over and despite his wounds, Glorfindel sought any way to slow the fall or to at least make the impact less harsh. But despite the vain attempts, Glorfindel got nowhere and he half screamed and cried.

'Please forgive me for my wrongdoings,' the elf begged to the Higher in his mind and heart. 'Do not let me-'

The elf never got the chance to finish the thought as he landed on the hard, sharp rocks at the bottom of the chasm.

Glorfindel thought he was dead when he came to. Well, he was not there fully, and Glorfindel would forget this ever happened when he did finally regain full consciousness. All the elf knew was that he breathed, and that was fine. That was all that mattered. He could not see very well, but that was fine too. Hazy images of people floated above him, and words he did not understand reached his ears.

All of that remained dim and unworthy to remember, much like a young babe that was unable to fully put things to memory, up until the day when they were a few years old the world started to come together, as well as their identity.

One thing Glorfindel would remember from this time of hazy existence was how much he hated fire and heat at first. Even though he could not grasp why at the time, he knew warmth meant bad things and always tried to escape it. But it kept coming back, and eventually, he started associating it with good things again, even if he did not know _what_ those things were either.

And then, at some unknown time, Glorfindel found himself again.

He remembered falling like it was clear as day, and when he next blinked he shot up into a sitting position gasping for air and his eyes wide in panic. Glorfindel fell to the floor after scrambling off what apparently was a bed. He was unsure of where the bloody void he was or _why_ he had been falling to his death just a moment ago to find he was in a grey chamber with absurdly tall windows.

"Laurefindel, be calm!" someone exclaimed.

"W-why am I here?!" Glorfindel yelled in a shrill voice, trembling and not truly seeing. "W-what is this place?!" He started fighting against hands that tried to keep him still in which he failed miserably. The fog came back to his mind and he slumped against something.

"Keep still, little one," the voice said again gently. "Keep still…"

Glorfindel almost wanted to weep as everything started coming back to him, but all he could manage was a few tears. The Vanya moved to support himself again, but he did not get off the floor. His eyes gazed about in apprehension as he took in his surroundings. Grey, grey, more grey…some other beds…and stupidly tall windows that did not let those on the inside see the outside. Then he took input of his own state of being and looked down. No wounds, no burns, all his hair was back and pristine.

The elf remained shaky and he about passed out as he saw the person crouching before him. A Maia garbed in silver with light softly radiating about him, watching the recently wakened elf carefully.

"I died?" Glorfindel whispered tentatively.

"You did," the being affirmed.

"Why am I alive?"

"You have been alive for a while now, Laurefindel. Only now has your mind and body reconciled with each other."

Glorfindel gulped, shaking the other hands off before getting to his feet unsteadily. Glancing at the other beds he saw the lifeless bodies of the other lords of Gondolin and was close to fainting again. At least they were not mutilated or destroyed…they only looked like they were sleeping from what he could tell.

"This…is Mandos, is it not?" The Vanya got out finally.

"Yes, Laurefindel, this is Námo's domain."

Glorfindel groaned and fell to his knees as dread filled his heart.

"Do not worry about what the future will bring right now," the Maia said. "You will have some more time to regain yourself before you must decide what road you will take."

Glorfindel did not bother to ask what that meant, too exhausted and confused to think about much except the fact that he died, and now he was in Mandos with dead friends around him.

* * *

The Vanya woke from a doze and breathed slowly to keep himself calm. Those early days in the halls of the dead (quite the ironic title…More like you are alive but in a really dead place), were filled with a sense of doom and uncertainty. There were some moments that felt like thorns were being pulled out of his being whenever he and Námo spoke as the Vala slowly picked out false and twisted ideas, and made void every argument Glorfindel used to defend for wrong actions.

But in the end, despite the pain and being ashamed many times, he came out better from it.

The later days in Mandos he thought were brighter and hopeful. He was humbled before Eru's highest creations and he was willing to do the Maker's will. He was stupid though for not leaving Mandos when the hour came for him to leave, wasting his time waiting for Ecthelion to wake up to the point of nearly dying again: which would have lasted forever in that case. The fountain lord did not wake up, and after Námo patiently lectured the elf one last time, Glorfindel regained his senses and did what was asked of him.

The Vanya smiled faintly as he thought about the good things he experienced since being brought back to life. Being found by Erestor in Lindon was one of them, and the days that followed, Glorfindel would laugh merrily about the times when he exasperated the elf so much that Erestor threatened to kill him again.

For all the pain from dying and having to be purified did bring, he would not have it any other way.


End file.
